


10 Seconds

by Shadowclaw106



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Bucky Barnes is a snarky shithead, Depression, F/M, Minor Character Death, Overcoming Fear, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precognition, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam is about 4 years younger, Self-Loathing, Steve is just trying to keep it together, Still tension tho, The Avengers didn't break up after CW, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowclaw106/pseuds/Shadowclaw106
Summary: What can you do with 10 seconds? Bucky has never given the question any thought, but when he meets Catharine Fell, a woman with mysterious precognitive powers, his life quickly starts revolving around the concept. When extenuating circumstances force them to work together, he quickly realizes she is one of the most practical, hard-working, and INFURIATING women he's ever met. What he doesn't realize is that in the 10 seconds they met, his life changed forever. Bucky x Female OC; Archive Warnings MAY CHANGE!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mother_imp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_imp/gifts).



> Hello everyone! Thank you for giving this fic a chance! This is my first multi chapter story, and I'm quite nervous to post it. I can't guarantee when I'm going to update next, although hopefully it will be in the next week. Shout out to @mother_imp for editing and encouragement purposes. Please leave a comment before you leave, it lets me know if people enjoy this!
> 
> Shadow xx

“Damn it, Wilson! Can’t you watch your own back for 5 minutes?” Bucky snapped over the comm. He emptied the last of his magazine into the Hydra agent that almost got close enough to damage the Falcon’s wings. How many times had the ebony-skinned man forgotten to cover his 4 o’clock in the past 2 missions?  _ Three,  _ Bucky hissed to himself.  _ That’s three times that idiot would’ve gotten himself killed if I hadn’t stepped in. _ “You know, at some point I oughta start charging you for my protective services,” he continued, his gravelly voice straining to be heard over the din of the battle.

“Man, for supposedly being the deadliest assassin in history, you sure talk a lot,” Sam shot back. Bucky gritted his teeth and started to retort before Steve reprimanded both teammates.

“Enough chatter on the comms. Sam, have you cleared the northwest quadrant? Nat’s going to need time to copy those files,” Steve’s sentence ended with a huff as he sent his shield flying towards five Nazi bastards. “Buck, you need to get to Whitehall’s office and see if there’s anything--” he cut out for a few seconds to deal with a fresh wave, and Bucky took the opportunity to slip into the bunker that contained the Supreme Hydra’s personal and business quarters. “--anything that could show us where more Hydra locations are. Anything of interest.”

A lesser man might’ve swallowed uncomfortably at being in a room that was so reminiscent of his time as an unfeeling killing machine, but Bucky barely hesitated before rifling through the office. His eyes landed on a thick file on Whitehall’s desk. It looked so nondescript, tucked away under other papers and folders, but in his experience Hydra used the most common files to store the most important information. As he started to flip through it, his lip curled at what he saw. “Steve, I found it.”

“Good work. Nat, how much longer do you need?” Steve’s voice sounded strained.  _ Can’t believe that’s the same punk I used to have to stop from fighting guys twice his size,  _ Bucky thought fondly before hearing movement in the hallway. He listened for a moment, then fired two bullets as someone appeared in the doorway, smirking slightly as the figure sidestepped just in time.

“You almost shot me!” Sam scowled at the faint amusement on Bucky’s face. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.” He turned and ran back the way he came, without looking to see if the ex-assassin followed.

“I knew it was you--no one else stomps as heavy. ‘Sides, killing you’d go against my job as your bodyguard,” Bucky countered, easily keeping up with the other man. Before Sam could retaliate, Bucky touched his hand to his comm, “Steve, we're heading to the Quinjet. Are you almost done?”

As they burst out of the bunker, Bucky suddenly yanked Sam back by the arm. A blue and red shield flew past their noses, before ricocheting off the open bunker door and back into the apologetic Captain’s hand. “As I said,” Bucky let go of the irate Falcon. “Bodyguard.”

“Oh you-” Sam started before Steve interrupted him.

“Get to the Quin, I’m going back for Nat. She shouldn’t be taking this long.”

“I’ll save you the trouble, Captain.”

The three men whipped around to see the Supreme Hydra, Daniel Whitehall, standing in the middle of the dead enemy agents, gripping Natasha in a headlock with a gun to her head. He stared at them impassively as the redhead did her best to dislodge him. Bucky noticed with dismay that her head and leg gushed blood, and her attempts to free herself weakened by the second. The bullet wound didn’t seem to have hit the femoral artery, although it looked close.  _ Keep fighting Natasha, don’t give in. _

“Whitehall,” Steve growled, taking a step toward him. “Let her go.”

“You know, for an Avenger you aren’t very smart. No matter what happens, you and your teammates will die today,” The commander snarled. “Give me the file, Winter Soldier, and I’ll personally see to it that you’ll have a comfortable transition to your new handl--”

The crack of his Glock 17 lingered in the air, and Bucky could feel the shock pulsating from his teammates. Whitehall lay prostrate on the ground, blood leaking from the bullethole in his forehead. No one spoke, save for Sam’s sharp inhale; Bucky momentarily observed that it literally took a bullet to silence the younger man. Natasha ended the moment when her eyes rolled back and her body collapsed. Steve moved quickly to scoop her up, pausing to look at the pair of men.

“More Hydra will be on the way. Let’s go,” Steve spoke clippedly, and his eyes pierced through Bucky. The team sprinted *cough* Sam flew *cough* to the outside of the base, where the Quinjet was camouflaged. Steve immediately started working on binding Natasha’s leg with the gauze that the basic first aid kit provided.The shouting of enemy soldiers loudened as they drew closer, and Sam rushed to turn the engine on. Bucky watched a large group of men come into view and prepared to start shooting.

“Sam?”

“I know.”

“They’re getting closer.”

“I  _ know. _ ”

“I really don’t feel like dyin’ today.”

“Bucky! Not. Helping,” Panic colored Sam’s voice as he cranked the ignition to no avail. “How the hell do you turn this thing on?!”

Steve called Bucky’s name. “Get over here and keep pressure on this wound. Her blood’s soaking through the gauze.” He waited until Bucky knelt next to him, then ran to the cockpit. “Get rid of Hydra, we’ll meet you in the sky,” he ordered Sam, taking over the jet’s controls. Bucky heard a slight  _ woosh _ as the Falcon propelled himself out of the plane, into the sky, and toward the rapidly approaching soldiers. Bucky focused on keeping pressure on Natasha’s leg with one hand, and used the other to tip her head to the side.

“Wouldn’t want a pretty dame like you to vomit over yourself,” Bucky didn’t know where the words came from inside him. They sounded slightly familiar, as if he was used to saying them in another life. Briefly, he tried to remember if he had ever done this for his little sister, Rebecca.

“You think I’m pretty?” a wheeze came from the barely conscious Natasha, the corners of her mouth tugging upward despite the obvious pain she must have been in.

“‘Course I do,” Bucky was surprised at how easily his voice slid into a crooning Brooklyn accent. “Not just pretty, but damn near the scariest woman I’ve had the pleasure of meeting too.”

A wry look passed over her face before it contorted in pain again, “Bet I look real scary right now.”

“Everyone needs a day off. Even superheroes,” a conspiratorial look passed over his face--he didn’t know where  _ that _ came from either. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Just so long as you stay awake and keep talkin’ to me, deal?”

“Deal,” she huffed. Right then, Steve managed to get the Quinjet started, and whatever Natasha said next was drowned out by the roar of the engines. They lifted off the ground, and just as the ramp-like door was closing, Sam sailed in.

“Damn Stevie, you couldn’ta closed the doors any sooner? We picked up a stray bird.”

“Well this stray just saved  _ both _ of your asses, so I don’t wanna hear it,  _ Barnes _ ,” The stress Sam placed on Bucky’s last name raised his hackles a little bit, and reminded him vaguely of some mostly-forgotten memory. Instead of replying, he looked back down to Natasha. She watched the pair with the slightest hint of amusement when an unexpected bounce of turbulence caused her to hiss.

“S’much ‘s I love th’ quips, boys, ‘fraid ’m gonna need medical ‘ttention soon,” another bounce caused her to gasp loudly. Bucky noted worriedly that her skin looked pale and her words began to sound heavily slurred.

“She doesn’t have time to fly all the way back to the compound. She needs help  **now** . Do either of you know a hospital nearby?”

“N-no.. hospitals…” Natasha heaved.

“She’s right,” Steve called from up front. “HYDRA will find us within an hour. We need somewhere else.”

“I know a place,” Sam said after a moment. His face was guarded and his posture defensive.  _ What is he hiding? _

“Where?” Bucky snapped.

“Someplace safe.” 

“We don’t have time to be secretive, Sam. Give me the coordinates,” Steve demanded.

“38.7033°N, -106.3461°W. It’s about 30 minutes away, give or take some change.”

“We’ll make it there in 20.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the unusually quiet man. “You got a safehouse way out in the middle of Colorado?”

Sam’s eyes focused on something far away, and his mouth turned down. “Something like that,” he muttered.

_ \--20 min. later-- _

“Steve, how far away is this place?? Natasha can’t hold on much longer.”

The spy’s eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, and she exhaled in harsh, jagged-sounding pants. The tight grip she had kept on Bucky’s wrist loosened as she lost the extra strength to keep it there. Sam paced worriedly around, which didn’t help Bucky’s already keyed up nerves either.

“Two minutes out. I’m not seeing anything yet,” badly-hid doubt and anxiety revealed themselves in Steve’s tone, and he called Sam up to help him land. “Are you sure it’s here?”

“It’s here,” Sam sounded grim, and Bucky wondered what was so bad that even Mr. Therapy couldn’t calm himself down. He first heard Steve softly inhale, then the quieting of the engines as the Quinjet finally touched down. The back of the jet opened up to a stunning view. A large field of long grass rippled around them, and an attractive ranch style home sat a little ways off.  _ God there’s so much space _ , Bucky thought uneasily. Anyone else would’ve likely appreciated the lack of buildings around, but all Bucky could focus on was how hard it would be to spot a sniper in the rolling grass. The open blue sky made him feel like prey, images of planes raining down hellfire behind his eyes. The warm sun beat down on the Avengers as they walked out of the jet and onto the dusty ground. So distracted and overwhelmed by all of the unfamiliar sensations, Bucky missed someone approaching them from the house. When the distinctive sound of a cocked shotgun stopped him in his tracks, he immediately drew his handgun and aimed at the threat. The sun shining directly into his eyes, Bucky could see the silhouette of a man standing in front of him, unafraid and sighting down his barrel.

“You best put that down, boy, before someone gets hurt,” the man said coolly. “I asked you a question: what the hell are you doing on my property?”


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch1 has been rewritten, so go check that out! Thanks for sticking with me. Please comment if you wish!  
> ~Shadow

“I’m not gonna ask you boys again. Get the hell off my property.”

The three Avengers stared in surprise at the hostile man, before Sam started guffawing loudly.

“I’m surprised an old man like you can actually hold that thing!” he wiped a tear from his eye. Before Steve or Bucky could react accordingly (like slapping their friend upside the head), the stranger lowered his gun.

“Sammy Wilson? Is that you?” the man peered at the Avenger. “Well, I’ll be damned. The prodigal son returns!” The stranger moved toward Sam and engulfed him in a bear hug.

“Mr. Fell, you have no idea how good it is to see you. I’ll explain later, but right now my teammate is hurt real bad, and we can’t go to any hospitals,” Sam gestured to the limp body cradled in Steve’s arms. Mr. Fell, Bucky presumed, quirked an eyebrow and gave Sam a fond but exasperated look.

“Cate’s not here right now, but Marge’ll try to patch your friend up the best she can,” Mr. Fell paused for a moment. “And how many times do I have to tell ya? It’s Walt, son.” He promptly spun around and strode back towards the house. Steve and Sam followed Walt without hesitation, but Bucky felt like his brain had short-circuited.  _ What the hell just happened?? _ He shook his head and jogged after the group, determined to get the full story once they treated Natasha.

Upon entering the house, the delicious smell of home cooking wafted into Bucky’s nose. Going by the yearning on Steve’s face, Bucky guessed he wasn’t the only one whose stomach had caught up with him. Walt called from somewhere deeper in the house, and Bucky took the opportunity to observe his surroundings. The front door opened to a mudroom where shoes lay haphazardly on the floor. He made sure to remove his own before continuing farther in, where he found himself in a hallway. On his left, spiral steps led upwards to a second landing, and on his right he saw a cramped dining room. Straight ahead, the hallway opened up into a cozy den, complete with comfortable-looking couches and a fireplace. In each space, the walls and shelves were decorated with all sorts of knick-knacks and memorabilia. Bucky noticed that most of the pictures featured two girls: one brunette and one blonde. The brunette seemed to be the oldest, and looked affectionately annoyed by whatever pose the blonde held. Bucky had never felt so out of place in his life.

He moved carefully through the den, making sure not to disrupt anything. His skin prickled and the hair on the back of his neck rose, every part of his body screaming at him to leave before he ruined the normalcy of the scene. Since he fell off the train in 1945, his life had been an endless cycle of brainwashing, cryo, and murder. Since joining the Avengers, he’d experienced nothing but unbearable tension that kept him on edge 24/7. Despite the Avengers recovering after their “civil war” and the Accords being amended, the animosity between the two sides hadn’t died down. In fact, it had only gotten worse since he moved into the Avengers compound. Most of his teammates clearly felt uncomfortable around him, and Tony wouldn’t even hold a conversation with him, let alone stay in the same room. It was becoming difficult to talk to Steve too. He didn’t often say it, but it was obvious that he hoped Bucky would suddenly wake up and act like his old self. After living through such hostility for so long, being in a home with a family that clearly loved each other unnerved Bucky.  _ How should I act? What’s the protocol for interacting with civilians? _ Bucky knew those thoughts were unreasonable and he shouldn’t overthink it, but in that moment, he’d have rather faced a legion of Hydra soldiers.  _ At least Hydra wouldn’t expect small talk, _ Bucky shuddered. Attempting to dismiss his anxiety, he focused on navigating through the house. When he reached the kitchen, he saw Natasha stretched out on a table, and an elderly woman using a pair of forceps to dig into the redhead’s leg.

“Aah!” Natasha couldn’t help her groan of pain as the woman finally found the bullet, and tugged it out unceremoniously. The woman worked quickly to disinfect the wound, earning another grunt from the Avenger, and then wrapped it up in wide sheets of gauze.

“There now, sweetheart. That feel better?” The woman smoothed Natasha's hair down and dabbed some of the blood away from her forehead. “Take a deep breath, darlin’, I’m almost done,” she said soothingly, then applied more disinfectant to the head wound. “Walt, get me a glass of water.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied teasingly, winking at Bucky as he crossed the room to get to the fridge. “She always gets bossy when she’s patching someone up.”

“I should think so, too. Hesitation’ll kill you in this business,” Marge muttered distractedly once she held the glass in hand. “Now, sweetheart, I’m afraid I need you to drink this up before I let you off this table. You lost a lot of blood, but it’s nothing that shouldn’t be cured with some fluids and rest,” She helped Natasha drink up the water before gesturing to Steve and Bucky. “Well, aren’t you two boys going to help this lady to the couch?” Something about her tone reminded both men of an Army Captain, and immediately prompted them to apologize and carefully carry Romanoff to a blanket covered sofa. “Now, as much as I’d like to hear this story, I have a patient to tend to. Dinner will be served in an hour,” she nodded to each Avenger before whisking off to their couch-bound friend.

“Unflappable, that woman. Unflappable,” Walt chuckled. “So now that your friend’s taken care of, tell me straight, Sammy. What are Captain America and Bucky Barnes doin’ in my kitchen?”

*

“Oh, that’s  _ all _ , hm?” Walt huffed disbelievingly. Sam had done his best to explain how they had been tasked to infiltrate a Hydra base that allegedly held records regarding future possible operations, without compromising any secrets that a normal civilian shouldn’t know. Walt’s eyes held Sam’s, who kept shifting and glancing in different directions. “Sammy,” he said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You did the right thing coming here. I don’t care what happened in the past, you know our home is always open to you.” Sam gave a half-shrug and a sheepish smile.

“Thank you, Walt. I don’t know what we’d have done if you and Marge hadn’t been here,” Sam smiled gratefully, and a meaningful look passed between both men. Seemingly satisfied by whatever Sam implied, Walt grunted and moved to the sink to fill up four water glasses. Sam looked relieved, as if a large weight had lifted from his shoulders. Content with the silence, they listened to Marge fuss over Natasha in the other room. Bucky would’ve preferred to remain quiet, but Steve cleared his throat.

“Sir, thank you for having us in your beautiful home. Steve Rogers, at your service,” Steve stepped forward to offer his hand. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I can’t thank you enough for helping save my teammate’s life.”

Momentarily stunned, Walt set down his glass before clasping Steve’s hand. “Captain, do NOT feel that this is an intrusion. It’s our pleasure to host Captain America in our home. Actually, if you don’t mind,” his face grew red, and his tone turned bashful and rushed. “I have a few trading cards that I’d love for you to sign. It’s just... I grew up on the stories of Captain Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos.” Going by Sam’s surprised amusement, Bucky assumed that Walt didn’t usually fluster easily.

Steve laughed, the sound reverberating deeply through each person in the room, “My friends call me Steve, Mr. Fell. And it’s no problem, one of the bravest men I knew asked the same question once.”

Walt beamed, “Please, Steve, call me Walt.” He turned to the hulking shadow that lurked at the edge of his kitchen. “Sergeant Barnes, it’s such an honor to meet you. Welcome to my home,” Walt smiled broadly and extended his hand. Bucky hesitated before gripping it.

“Bucky. And thanks, you’ve got a beautiful property,” he responded with a tense smile. Walt had child-like wonder in his eyes, and it took all of Bucky’s training to not shy from the imploring gaze. He hated when people looked at him like that, awestruck and searching for a hint of the legendary Howling Commando. Bucky had turned the tides of political and literal battlefields, seen the worst of human nature, and become jaded to most things, no matter how marvelous or terrible they were. He felt more comfortable fighting for his life in a warzone than holding a conversation with even his teammates. Conversations that would normally flow easily made him nervous because he could no longer differentiate between a joke and a threat. He scrutinized kindness, criticized faith, and seen horrors beyond belief. Yet nothing could prepare him for the moment when he realized that this man, this  _ father _ , saw him as a hero to look up to. Bucky knew he should say something that would keep those rose-tinted glasses in place, but he’d be lying if he said a part of him didn’t want to rip Walt’s naivety away--the same way his was when he fell off that train. 

As Bucky stared into Walt’s wide eyes, he felt weighted down and so tired. There was nothing of value that he could offer. He didn’t know how to be the old charismatic Bucky, or the self-assured soldier that Steve played. Of course, he tried his best to remember who he was before HYDRA, but he only felt comfortable acting that way in a fight. There was no pressure from people watching his every move, expecting him to either snap or participate in conversation. Steve in particular fell prey to that trap, making jokes and glances that he clearly expected Bucky to respond to. When Bucky didn’t react the right way, he saw Steve remember that his friend wasn’t the person he used to be, and that he might not ever be that man again. Everytime Steve looked at him forlornly, Bucky felt a little less sure of who he was versus who he ought to be. Steve wanted him to be the Howling Commando, Tony and Fury treated him like a sleeper agent about to go off the rails, and everyone else waited to see which personality would win. In reality, he wasn’t Sergeant Barnes or the Winter Soldier anymore. He was just Bucky. And as shameful as it was, when the new Bucky felt cornered or uncomfortable, he deflected. “So how do you and Sam know each other?” he asked, praying Walt would take the bait. He wasn’t disappointed.

Walt’s eyes lit up, and Sam groaned. “Sammy grew up with my girls. He was a few years ahead of my oldest. His daddy was a minister in Harlem around the time we lived there, so when he wasn’t around, Sam came over to our house. Spent a lot of time with us, and even more time in Marge’s pantry!” Walt chortled. Sam reddened and spluttered in embarrassment.

“Alright I think that’s enough, Walt,” Sam interrupted. “No one wants to listen to that stuff.” Walt opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam didn’t give him the chance. “ _ Any _ ways, where’s Cate? She home from med school yet?”

Walt suddenly grew somber, “Sam-”

“SAM WILSON!!” the front door slammed and a shriek echoed through the house. Both Steve and Bucky stiffened, their hands going to their weapons, alert for a possible threat. Sam paled.

“Oh God.”

A woman stormed into the kitchen, fire in her eyes and a menacing scowl on her face. She stopped at the sight of the four men, her eyes narrowed and locked on a very worried-looking Falcon. She pointed at him, her finger trembling, “You.”

Sam seemed to fold in on himself, but offered a weak smile and the tiniest, most awkward wave, “Hey Cate. How’s it going?”

Sam realized it was obviously the wrong thing to say, when the woman snarled lightly and her fists tightened. She marched right up to Sam, and regarded him hotly for a moment.

_ SMACK! _

Her open palm cracked against Sam’s cheekbone. Bucky and Steve looked on in shock, and readied their weapons. But Sam just stood there, face turned away from the seething woman.

“I deserved that,” he sighed. He slowly raised his eyes to look at her, eyes sad and resigned.

“Yes, you did,” her voice was tight and filled with pain. “Five years, Sam. Five  _ fucking _ years. You didn’t even have the decency to call once.” Bucky winced as her voice cracked, but was unable to tear his eyes from the pair in front of him.  _ What did you do, Sam? _

“Cate,” Walt said quietly. Her attention briefly flicked to him, and suddenly realized that they had guests. Bucky watched as her shoulders slumped and all of her previous anger slipped away. She turned to the super soldiers, and Bucky was surprised to see her act completely opposite from the woman whose presence had previously filled the room. This new woman brushed a dark curl away from her face and eyed both men with equal parts suspicion and curiosity. After a moment, she stepped closer and stuck her hand out warily.

“Catharine Fell. Cate. You’re Captain America?” Her tone sounded civil, but her body language reminded Bucky of a deer about to bolt. Instead of taking her hand, Steve loomed over the woman intimidatingly and crossed his arms.

“Yes. And I don’t take well to people attacking my teammates,” he spoke harshly, sending clear signals of dislike and mistrust. Cate glared defiantly at the lead Avenger.  _ Oh this should be good, _ Bucky thought. Surprisingly, Cate’s attitude melted and she hung her head slightly. Even more surprisingly, Bucky felt disappointed. He’d been looking forward to seeing her stand her ground against the most stubborn person Bucky knew.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Captain. I shouldn’t have behaved so improperly in front of guests.” She turned and dipped her head to Sam, who looked completely shocked. Bucky noted with no small amount of delight that she hadn’t actually apologized for hitting Sam, and had to stifle a chuckle. Apparently his laughter hadn’t been that quiet, because Cate’s head whipped around and she jumped like she had forgotten he was there. He gave her a small smile, and nodded.

“Bucky Barnes!” Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly and offered him a smile of her own, “Cate Fell.”

“That was a good swing. Knowing Sam, I don’t doubt he deserved it.”

“He did,” she held his gaze, as if daring him to question her reasons. Bucky almost obliged her, but Walt, who had been watching from the sidelines, interjected.

“Cate’s my oldest. She works at the nearby haunted town of St. Elmo as a tour guide,” his cheer sounded forced. “Honey, why don’t you see if your mom needs help? Their teammate was hurt pretty bad and I’m sure an extra set of hands would be welcome.”

Cate seemed like she might protest, but she nodded at her dad and left the kitchen. Bucky’s eyes momentarily lingered on her form before flicking back to Walt. The oven timer beeped.

“Well that was entertaining.”


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, my lovelies! I had to decide where and how far I wanted to take this fic, and then I had a hard time writing this chapter. I know that doesn't excuse almost 3 months, but please bear with me (those of you who are still reading!) I apologize for OOC-ness or bad writing. I promise my quality will get better as I go, but I don't have a beta--PLEASE RECOMMEND ONE--and I'm learning on the fly. As always, please please comment as it helps me stay motivated and lets me know how I'm doing <3\. Ch.4 is already underway so it shouldn't be 3 months this time.
> 
> ~Shadow

Marge bustled back into the kitchen, and broke the growing tension with an unaffected “Can you boys help me set the table?”. As she delegated tasks to the others, Bucky slid into the living room where Natasha rested on the couch. Sitting next to the half-conscious agent, he breathed deeply through his nose, attempting to center himself. She sleepily studied him, taking in his tense posture and subtly gritted jaw.

“2 main exits--front door ‘nd a back door, ‘hich leads outside. Back door’s squeaky, but both ‘re unlocked,” she spoke quietly, exhaustion evident in her slight slurring.

Bucky glanced at her and raised his eyebrow, continuing to breathe deeply.

“Mardzh vyshla na ulitsu. Otsyuda ya uslyshal skrip dveri,” she mumbled.  _ Marge went outside. I heard the door creak from here.  _ Even in her drugged state, Natasha’s eyes pierced through Bucky. As much as he hated her scrutiny, her attempts to soothe him didn’t go unnoticed. He nodded, and hesitantly placed a hand on her leg. If she felt uncomfortable with the rare show of affection, she didn’t show it. Grasping his wrist gently, she thanked him, “Spasibo. Vasha dobrota v samolete byla nenuzhnoy, no tsenilas'.”  _ Thank you. Your kindness on the plane was unnecessary but appreciated. _

“Ty moy tovarishch po komande, mne bylo priyatno pomoch' tebe,” Bucky regarded her solemnly.  _ You are my teammate, it was my pleasure to help you.  _ He tried to stand, but Natasha’s hand shot out and grasped his bicep. An unnerving focus behind her gaze made him stiffen.

“Vy pochuvstvuyete to zhe samoye, kogda aktiv vernetsya?”  _ Will you feel the same way when the Asset returns? _

Cold settled over Bucky’s heart. The realization that her apparent concern for him concealed a vigil for the Winter Soldier was unsurprising, but still stung--even her momentary softness was a ruse to take his pulse. After a year as teammates, she still didn’t trust him. **_Not much has changed since the Red Room._** Bucky understood her motivation, after all there were potential casualties present and with her blood loss, she wouldn’t be much help. ** _Not that she’d be able to hold me for long anyways_**. General discomfort wouldn’t cause him to ‘flip’, but her wariness was justified. He just wished that Natasha hadn’t been shot so he might’ve already been back at the compound in his quiet room. **_Is that really what you want? To be alone in a place where people are happy to shoot you as soon as they receive the order?_** Bucky didn’t know where that thought had come from, but yes. He’d take familiarity over the unknown any day. No matter, Natasha still waited for an answer to her loaded question. ‘Yes’ was a lie, but ‘no’ would add to the potentially damning list she was undoubtedly compiling about him. He briefly wondered if the rest of the team knew that she regularly gave reports to Coulson and Fury about their individual effectiveness. He met her gaze steadily.

“Dinner will be ready soon.”

She released his arm, but Bucky could feel her watching as he retreated back into the kitchen.

  
  


After his unsettling conversation with the Black Widow (most Avengers saw their superhero identity as their ‘alternate persona’, but Bucky suspected the opposite was true for the red-haired spy), questions distracted him through most of dinner.  ****

**_Question: how many others are assessing me? Change question: assume they’ve all received orders to. How many are likely to report? Assume all possibilities besides direct teammates will. Will report: Romanoff, Barton, Stark. Likely to report: Vision, Maximoff, Wilson. Will not report: Steve. Question: why did Romanoff try to trap me? Answer: Wanted to rile me up, see how I react under pressure. Question: why that moment specifically? Answer: Unknown - I was effective during the mission and that was higher pressure than an awkward kitchen conversation. Question: why did she alert me to assessment? Answer: Unknown - makes future investigations more difficult._ **

“Bucky?” Steve interrupted his thought process, and Bucky took a millisecond too long to process the question that Walt had asked him.

“I don’t remember much from the ‘40s, but I’ll never forget rushing into battle with this twerp. Who’d’ve guessed the tiny runt fighting in alleys would turn out to be Captain America?” Bucky infused his practiced answer with old-school charm. Most of his companions seemed to be satisfied with his false aplomb—confined to the couch, Romanoff couldn’t analyze his hesitation—but Steve didn’t buy it. In fact, the man looked more concerned once Bucky used one of the statements the PR reps devised.  _ I’m fine, mother-hen, _ Bucky raised one eyebrow. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky stared back unimpressed. Steve narrowed his eyes and promptly shoved another forkful of sweet potato into his mouth. Satisfied, Bucky tried to reorganize his thoughts, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Cate keenly observed him, confusion and uncertainty warring in her eyes, as if she couldn’t quite tell what to make of him.  **_What am I, a circus act?_ **

“You know the first rule of observing a target is making sure you blink. You wouldn’t want them to think they’re being stared at,” Bucky commented coolly, keeping his voice low. He smirked slightly as Cate flushed and Steve choked on his water.

“Wrong pipe, dear?” Marge asked Steve, while Walt slapped him on the back.

“Yeah, must have been,” Steve croaked after a second or two. After sparing Bucky a glance, Steve continued the conversation he’d been having with the rest of the table.

“I wasn’t staring,” Cate hissed.

“Then what would you call it? Admiring the view?” He felt a surprising amount of familiarity towards her, but didn’t let himself read too deeply into it.

“No, you’d have to be attractive for me to do that.”

“Bull.”

“Not bull.”

“Your pupils are dilated, doll,” Bucky baited.

“Maybe because I’m arguing with an obstinate idiot like you!” she snapped quietly, trying not to draw her parents’ attention.

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all,” Bucky chided, and struggled not to smile at the absolute indignation on Cate’s face. Honestly it was like riling Steve up: too easy and extremely entertaining.

“Cate sweetheart, is everything alright? Your face is all red,” Marge innocently asked her daughter. “And stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles.”

If Bucky had been granted one wish at that moment, he would’ve taken a picture of Cate’s face. She tried to hide her seething fury with a polite smile, and the result looked somewhere between constipated and murderous.

“I’m fine! Just talking to Bucky!” Cate’s fake cheer sounded high-pitched and tense, causing the men to wince, but Marge pushed doggedly on.

“You know, Bucky,” Marge winked at him conspiratorially. “Cate had a pretty big crush on you in high school. She made her friends go as the Howling Commandos for Halloween two years in a row just so she could dress up like her favorite Sergeant.”

Bucky coughed as he processed that information. He struggled to keep his composure, but he knew that his blush reached the tips of his ears. Steve valiantly fought a smile, and Sam didn’t even try to contain himself as he cackled loudly into his napkin.

“Mom!” Cate’s protest, though shrill, fell on deaf ears.

“I forgot about that,” Sam wheezed. “Do you still have pictures?”

Cate’s head whipped over to Sam and glowered ominously, “We have 3 years worth of Halloween pictures of you as Captain America.” When that didn’t stop Sam’s gleeful crowing she switched tactics. “Want me to show Steve the pictures of our fashion show?”

Almost immediately, Sam stopped laughing and threatened her with his fork. “You said we wouldn’t talk about that again!”

Cate raised her eyebrows and bit into her chicken. Sam grumbled, stabbing at his food sullenly.

“Fashion show…?” Steve looked completely lost.

“When we were kids, I made Sam join in on my fashion show. He’d refuse to wear anything I picked out for him because it wasn’t ‘manly’,” Cate took a moment to swallow her food. “Instead, he decided to wear his Captain America underwear and onesie.”

To his credit, Steve nodded hesitantly and turned to Sam seriously, who looked like he might have an aneurysm.

“Oh… so, how old were you?”

Sam muttered something incomprehensible; Walt took the liberty of answering for him.

“18.”

Bucky tried to keep his composure, but at the thought of an 18 year old Sam sassily walking down a hallway like a runway model in boxers and a onesie with Steve’s face and the American flag on them, he lost it. His chuckles started small but quickly escalated. Steve and Sam stared at him in shock, but neither could resist joining in. Soon, everyone around the table was in hysterics, glassy-eyed and breathless. Eventually things died down, leaving them with smiles on their faces but feeling completely worn out.

“Alright, Marge and I’ll do the dishes. You three get up to bed, you’ve all had long days and I won’t see guests in my house doing chores,” Walt said after catching his breath. Bucky would’ve protested, but exhaustion weighed his tongue down. The mission clearly had taken a toll on all of them, Steve being the only one to resist before thanking the couple.

“Cate, if you’ll show them to their rooms and then help me make sure Agent Romanoff is comfortable, please?” Marge asked.

“Sure. She should be fine tonight, but you’ll want to get her to an actual hospital tomorrow. Technically she shouldn’t even be sleeping without a proper transfusion or medical attention, but somehow she’s recovering quickly. You super soldiers must be rubbing off on her,” Cate noticeably did  _ not  _ speak to Bucky, instead directing her observation to Steve who nodded seriously.

“Thank you again for your hospitality,” he turned to Walt and Marge. “We should be out of your hair early tomorrow morning.”

“Stay for breakfast! Marge makes great french toast,” Walt insisted, but Marge laid a hand on his arm.

“They need to head out early, dear. Even without Agent Romanoff to think about, they need to get back to work.”

Walt looked crest-fallen, but nodded his agreement. “I know, I know. We’ll make sure to see you off in the morning.”

With that, Cate finished clearing the plates and ushered the men up the stairs. “We only have two rooms, so I can inflate an air mattress or Sam can sleep on the couch?”

“What? Why do I have to sleep on the couch?” Sam whined. Cate regarded Sam contemptuously.

“I’ll take the couch,” Bucky offered suddenly.

“Buck, we can just blow up a mattress.”

“Don’t worry about it Barnes, I’d rather take the couch anyways.”

“Bucky, you can have one of the rooms. Sam’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowned. “I’m takin’ the couch,” he said decisively, and fixed each of them with a challenging glare. None of them looked happy about the arrangement, but Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to change his friend’s mind, and Sam really didn’t want to sleep on the lumpy sofa. Cate still looked like she might argue, but Marge came up the stairs, conveniently interrupting any snappish comment.

“I just realized that you boys don’t have any PJs to sleep in!”

“Oh we don’t need any--”

“Are you really going to tell me you’d rather sleep in combat gear?” Marge asked flatly, and Bucky suddenly realized where Cate got her sass. “They’re a little small, but they’re warm and soft. The bathroom is down the hall, or you can use the bathroom downstairs. Both have extra toiletries and bathrobes, but please be aware of the amount of hot water you use. If none of us are awake tomorrow morning, your packed lunches are in the fridge. We’re so glad to have met you three, so don’t hesitate to drop by if a mission brings you to Colorado. And Sam,” she eyed the man with a fond knowing that only a mother could muster. “Try not to take so long between visits.” Then, she grabbed Cate’s hand and whisked downstairs like a terrifyingly efficient tornado.

The men stared at the empty stairwell in shock, each feeling a ferocious surge of affection towards their matronly host.

“Hey Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Is it weird she reminds me of Peggy Carter?”

“Nope.”


End file.
